


The Deadly Landing

by Lostboys3D



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark Sherlock, For an experiment, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Mental Hospital AU, One-Sided Attraction, Patient Sherlock, Psychiatrist John, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Suicide Attempt, bad childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostboys3D/pseuds/Lostboys3D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John Watson is given a chance to never be bored again. After all who could ever live the same boring life after meeting with the great serial killer Sherlock Holmes?" Mental hospital Au, where John is Sherlock's doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first story on AO3. I hope you enjoy it. I don't have a beta, so there will most possibly be mistakes. I am looking for one however, so I'll be glad to hear if you're interested. Don't forget to tell me what you think.

  "Dr. Watson!" Dr. Stamford called with a huge smile as he paced toward the short man, "Dr. Watson, Glad to have you here! They said that the big brother was hiring a new crew for Holmes, but I never thought it would be you! Nice to see you!"

 

  Dr. John Watson gave the man a small fleeting smile as the fat man reached him and shook hands, but didn't slow down, making the man walk beside him. "Hello, Dr... " He glanced at the ID that hanged from the man's over sized white coat, "Stamford. Big brother?"

Stamford gave a small deep chuckle before answering; "Mycroft Holmes? He owns this place! We call him big brother around here. He chose you, didn't he?"

John remembered the black car that one day followed him on his way home from his psychiatrist and the man with the umbrella who seemed rather too fond of Bond movies that kidnapped him.

 

 

_"Dr. Watson." The man curled the handle of the umbrella in his hand as he smiled a smile that leaked formality and fake politeness. "It's a pleasure."_

_"Why am I here?" John said in a hard tone he usually used to restrain his more dangerous patients as he stood a little bit taller making sure to show that the difference in height never stopped him from winning battles before. The man's smile turned into a sly one that resembled a snake's in many ways._

 

_"It's rather unusual for a psychiatrist to have a psychiatrist, don't you think?" The man said as he turned his head in false amusement. "But I guess, it's rather natural coming from someone who has a background like you." those words were like poking a wounded bear with a stick, but John pulled on his best neutral face that he normally used in front of the patients to avoid giving the man the satisfaction._

_"That didn't answer my question, sir. Why am I here?" He repeated this time with a colder tone._

_"Always to the point like the good soldier you are, or used to be." The man answered as he tilted his head stretching his smile wider if possible, "I'm going to offer you a job which, I doubt you would refuse."_

_"then this is by far the shortest and most dramatic job interview in my history." John said, clenching his hands to fists. "Oh, Dr. Watson, I will pay you a great sum of money, for which I'm sure you could use t.." The man who seemed a bit over weighted was cut short as John jumped in with a; "I don't want your money and I don't want your job. You can go and find another unemployed psychiatrist to bother with you James Bond jobs."_

 

_The man's smile faded away and turned into a stone cold stare, which John assumed was how he really looked at others on normal bases, as he got a small black notebook out of his pocket. John froze as he heard the man reading from what seemed like a random page of the black notebook. "'After coming back from war, you start to study the human minds, a suggestion from your psychiatrist, you could still save lives even if your hand trembles all the way. Losing your sister to depression only triggered you to follow your studies much more obsessively.' You should have fired your doctor right when she suggested it, however." The man turned to look at him again, this time his eyes shinning brightly._

_John knew the mind game the man was playing, but his curiosity was too great to fight to the urge to ask. "Why is that?" He said as he made sure that his body language would show that he has no interest in hearing the answer (which was a lie) and was only doing it as a social nicety (which he had no care for.) The man seemed to read through his act with his stare, which seemed impossible cause people rarely happened to be able to go under his professional mask. This man was dangerous, and he would one day regret getting involved with him._

 

_"Your hand, doctor." He said as if he was pointing out the obvious. "Do you see any trembling at the moment?" John clenched his hands tighter, enough for his fingers to go white, as he didn't need to look at his hands to know the answer was negative. He knew where the man was getting with this, as he was able to understand it as he had studied on about his condition. "What does that tell a doctor such as yourself, Dr. Watson?" The man was too smug for whatever he was._

_"That it's not the war haunting me, it's my body missing it." John said like he was saying something that he had repeated for many times. The man nodded his head in approval. "And the job I'm about to offer you will guarantee that you will never be bored again," The man smiled as he moved to get a file that seemed too full for the old frame as he walked toward John. His hand froze just before handing the file. "If you read this file, there will be no going out of this, doctor."_

_He warned. John thought about it. A soldier makes his choice in 7 breathes, afterwards even if his head is caught off his body will accomplish his task to the end.*_

_John Watson took a few breathes and reached out for the file._

 

"So, what have you heard from Holmes?" Stamford asks with a deter minded look on his face, as if he had made a decision about John's new job. John was happy that no one mentioned his limping foot, or his career before the Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane, so he did not even care if they were going to give him the hardest job in the whole community.

 

"I read his file." He answered, as he kept his eyes on the walls, trying to memorize the route to where his patient was held. "Did they tell you what happened to his last psychiatrist?" Stamford said in a dark and tired tune that didn't fit with his kind and harmless face, making John study his face for a minute.

"the woman seemed to quit?" Stamford laughed at that.

"No Dr. Watson. Sally was going insane, so they relieved her of duty."

"Well I guess that's what you get for naming your subject 'Freak' in the reports and refuse to call him anything else." John said, as he could think of nothing else to say.

"Holmes, is dangerous Dr. Watson. Don't let him get in your head." He said as he opened a door that was leading to a single small cell, his voice showed that he was more on Sally's side in this case which John found odd. Inside was the same as the rest of the hospital, a dull shade of white that was supposed to bring peace to the patients or so it seemed that way. About two meters inside the big room stood a thick glass that created the wall of the patient's cell. the man inside it had a full room of decors and books and seemed other wise to be living in a flat than a cell. He was sitting on a small metal chair with his back to the main door, seeming unfazed by the sound of the door opening. He seemed tall and extremely pale under that layers of the light blue colored hospital uniform. There were a few small marks on his neck where skin met the cloth, and the rest was covered by the clean clothing. He had messy black curls for hair that seemed too clean and shiny for a mental hospital patient, John thought.

 

 

"Good luck." John nodded at those words and walked through the room to reach where the glass wall of the cell started. The glass was a huge one piece form that only had a small metal door for the workers to enter to clean the messy cell, and seemed otherwise safe. There were many small breathing holes on it and a slim opening for what john assumed where the food tray and small objects were exchanged. He stood exactly in front of the man's back, and wore his best professional face before clearing his throat. Slowly, he saw a change in the man's breathing theme, as it showed from him moving his shoulder slightly and just like that the man turned on his chair and stared at the blond doctor.

 

"Hello." John said as the man faced him fully.He had a bony face that seemed like it was carved out of an expensive stone by the hands of a master artist, which was in a huge contrast with the dark hair that cupped it. His eyes were still close with long lashes touching his cheeks as he moved his hands to come together in front of him, as they were just motionlessly hanging from his side before, and just as the tips of his fingers touched each other the man's eyes flew open.

John looked straight into those deep grey eyes that seemed almost colorless in the room's light and smiled at the criminal named Sherlock Holmes.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The file info Dr. Watson read about the great Sherlock Holmes.

**Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane**

 

 

 

 **Subject's Name:** Sherlock William Scott Holmes

 **Subject No:** #20127-SH

 **Sex:** Male

 **Age:** Twenty nine (29)

 

 **Containment Ground:** Patient Holmes is kept in the 221 containment unit, room B, within a eleven (11) x fifteen (15) walled area-patterned wall paper (see file: 484SH1W) and bullet proof glass- along with accessories to the subject's liking (see file: 485SH1-89A). Access code is available to all Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane staff.

 

 **Description** : Patient Holmes is 6 feet (182 cms) tall and weights 112 pounds (51kgs). He has dark curly hair that is kept messy and longer than instructed by choice. The subject has a bony face with high cheek bones, diamond shaped grey colored eyes, straight nose, and full small lips. The subject declines food on most occasions and on order (see file: MH.1643SH) the staff are prevented from forcing meals. The subject has 24 visible needle signs on left forearm from previous addiction and repeated cocaine injection (see medical file). He has no further scars on any body parts. The subject wears medium sized Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane's official uniform, and is allowed a long navy blue coat and a blue scarf during transportation.

 

 **Condition:** Patient Holmes describes himself as a "high-functioning sociopath" in therapy sessions, there had been no sign up to date to prove that information false, he also suffers from clear ADHD signs. The IQ of the subject is rated 173 (Extraordinary genius) and for that matter Dr. Sally Donovan noted that any form of testing would reach problems if they are done without extra cautions. The subject is described as "observant" by Dr. Mike Stamford, and "Able to form mere deductions" by the subject himself. Patient Holmes enjoys toying with others and lacks the normal reactions for the base of human nature. The followings are added by Dr. Sally Donovan:

 

 

[Starting report]: "Freak has the tendency to prove his superiority to others from the very start. He enjoys of being unlike others (unlike a normal psychopath, but had been observed before in a few sociopath cases) and is purely driven by vanity. He has no fear of harming others and if needed himself in order to get the desired effects. The man calls on his crime with pride and only seems regretful of "losing a good purple shirt" up to the freak himself. The man usually appears dissociating when meeting others, and seems to find to "Only find them interesting till he figures them out." said by the subject himself. He refuses to answer any personal questions and gets aggressive in case of pushing the subject. In cases of his medications and one time overdose (see medical file) he called on the name "Moriarty" for more than a few times, however he refuse to speak or acknowledge the said declaring. The name alone seems to trigger the freak as he turns defensive and dangerous by merely hearing the word. The only times that he seems more cooperative is the times that a new case ([Need access level 6]

 

[Loading given ID]

 

[Access granted.]

The 'cases' are given to subject by Dr. Lestrade and by order (see order: MH253)) is given to him to solve. Therapy seems useless on him and all types of medications are stopped by the order (see order: MH24Sh) after the overdose incident, making it harder.

 **Note:** It is also recommended for others to stay away from freak as much as possible."

 

[End of report.]

 

 **Background:** The subject was born and raised in a country house in Sussex with an older brother (Id: ██367183-Need access level 8-2794██) and parents (Id: Mr. ██8763-Need access level 7-22██, and Mrs. ██2761-need access level 7-23██). He had been described as a cheerful and yet shy boy by the said parents. He went to Baskervile Public School and in there is announced with perfect grades and yet reports of bullying towards him by several teachers (see reported files:1253SH, and 1353SH) however, there were never any reports made by the subject, himself. he showed interest in chemistry, but never finished university on the subject. He rented a single bed flat on the low areas of London and had private clients (the people are still unknown as the patients refuse to give out any names) on the job that patient Holmes described as "A consulting detective". He later became a suspect as he was on one of the "cases" of this job and in an investigations was arrested for murder after finding human body parts (see files: 1SH-201SH) in the man's possessions that belonged to Scotland Yard's unsolved cases. The court however, stayed private off the news by order (See order ██-Need access level 8-██) and subject was found guilty with an insanity defense and moved to Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane.

 

 

[Need access level 4]

 

[Loading given ID]

 

[Access granted.]

 

During treatment with Dr. Sally Donovan the patient overdosed despite his medical background and drug history (see medical files) to the sudden increasing by Dr. Donovan's orders. Afterwards, the subject was placed out of Dr. Donovan's care and she was removed from Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane.

[End of file.]

 

[Need access level 6]

 

[Loading given ID]

 

[Access granted.]

The 'cases' are given by order(see order: MH253) and hand picked by the manager of Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane Dr. Greg Lestrade. They are the healthy way to control subject's addiction to crime and keeping his mind sharp. These cases are cold/ unsolved real police cases that they were unable to solve.

 **Note:** The statements that were given by Patient Holmes, though never wrong, are in the end just statements of a mentally sick criminal.

 

[End of file.]

[Need access level 8]

 

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely comments. Now make a simple observation and tell me what is john's level of access? please tell me what you think.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting.

  John took a deep breathe from habit and gave a small smile to the younger man through the glass.

"Hello." He said in a casual tone as he made sure to look at the subject only in the eyes and not anywhere that they might be uncomfortable about. The gaze that waited for him there however, was far from the look of someone who could be uncomfortable by anything, let alone just a fleeting look. Holmes' eyes ate him up just as a scanner scanned a piece of data. He could feel that every detail on him was being watched and calculated, so he allowed the man's eyes to roam all over him and take everything in, while still smiling. He was used tot his form of behavior by his patients, as most of them being war veterans like he himself, he could understand the unspoken need to read the situation even when it was just a conversation. Holmes kept the analyzing up for three more seconds, as John unconsciously counted in his head, and then looked at the door behind John instead. He looked as if he was saving the new information in his head and was planning at least the next twenty moves he could do next with the said data at hand. His head was tilted, showing off his pale and tender neck and the small signs of bruises that he didn't seemed to be bothered with. He suddenly snapped his head back and gave the new doctor a smile that looked like anything but an actual smile, in some ways like how a child would try to mimic an act he doesn't understand.

 

 

  "What does the 'H' stand for?" He questioned in an even tone, as if he was far away in his head (which was a lie cause John could tell by the man's eyes that he was perfectly in the present moment.) John raised an eyebrow and showed a bit of his confusion.

 

 "What 'H' do you mean?" He kept his voice light and leveled and talked just a tad faster than he usually did with his patients (closer to his usual speed of talking) to match with Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes in a dramatic matter and pointed at his card, that was hanging from the left side of his white coat, with his head. John had heard this question before, in one of his favorite cases Commander Shelto. The man who had spend the whole first session to just learn about him and the next six ones to come to actually open up to him, and John allowed him cause he knew people like Shelto needed to have a clear view over everything before setting a foot in the new environment. 

However, John didn't think he could allow the great killer Sherlock Holmes to roam just as freely. He reminded himself that it was Sherlock who was locked up, and that in some measures meant there was nothing special for him to do with a bit of data from a boring doctor of his. That being said, something inside his head couldn't just come in terms with it.

 

  "Hamish. Dr. John Hamish Watson." He said, but he made sure to set the line with the firm way he spoke those words. His effort only seemed to grant him a wolfish smile on Sherlock's part. 

"Oh doctor, I would enjoy it if you add your military rank, while we're at the basic steps." He said in a voice a child would use when he knows he has the upper hand compared to an adult. John was baffled by the words, if he wanted to be honest. _How does he know I was in the military? They told me he only knew that a new psychiatrist is coming._

 "What makes you say that?" He asked with a new small smile, knowing full well that he was entering a game with the man. Best part about mind games was that no matter what, both sides are showing themselves and Holmes had to show his face if he wanted to play. Sherlock's face was emotionless again as he saw John's smile, and yet his eyes shinned brightly in their grey color like a lamp going off from electric waves. 

 

"The way you walk and hold yourself screams military, and let's not forget about the haircut. You kept your military styled haircut, maybe cause it was easier to take care of, and maybe cause you work with people who need to see you as a military man even when you wear hideouscivilized jumpers under that white coat. I would say an honorable discharge. Now, you were a doctor as Stamford seemed to talk to you the way he talked to his old collage mates, so it wouldn't be a far fetch to know you used to study in the same collage, not so close though, you didn't bother with anything aside from formalities in your body language. The war doesn't need psychiatrists in the front lines and it certainly doesn't have them so used to being in stressful situations. You are in a stressful situation right now, and yet you seem as calm as they come. I would say being a psychiatrist wasn't your first job. You were a doctor however, so there it is, an army doctor.

If I want to take a shot in the dark I would say a shot to the left shoulder was what got you out of the business you were clearly made for. A shot that would not kill or disfigure you entirely, but coming with enough nerve damage that would cost you your job, a job that needs a steady hand. Your hands had tremor when you were coming inside, but not now that we're having this conversation. You needed action once more, so instead you relived it in other people's minds. You took care of war heroes and that made you feel good, didn't it? _Useful_ again? You needed as much contact as possible with your patient, hence the military haircut and your tone that you never bothered to fix. That is why I end up saying that it would be nice if you told me your military rank as well. There's nothing to hide or be ashamed of." As he spoke those words, Sherlock's eyes looked at him in the way a predator would look at a dying prey, and John felt more like that prey with each sentence that escaped Sherlock bow shaped lips.

 

When his short speech came to an end, Sherlock stole those eyes away to look at the wall on his right as if he had heard a noise coming from that direction, avoiding eye contact all together. John forgot how words worked. 

 

 

"That... That was... Brilliant." he said in a voice that seemed stuck in his throat. "Utterly Amazing!" He decided that Sherlock Holmes was by far the strangest man he had ever seen. Sherlock turned and looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time, and gave another rushed scanning to his face as if for once in a long while something out of his predictions was taking place. 

"You're a strange psychiatrist, John." He said in an amused tone that seemed to only enchant his eyes, which was enough for John to know it was there. He threw up an eyebrow as he heard his first name being spoken by the man. He allowed his patients to call him by his first name on some cases that needed deep emotional bonding, but he was not to keen on letting this man feel so close.

" _Watson_ , and how so?" He had a deep warning in his voice but couldn't help to lean forward on his chair. 

"Besides from the fact that you called a sociopath criminal brilliant?" Sherlock mused as he tilted his head and truly considered the question, "It's something in your face. You don't fit here. I can't figure why Mycroft would choose you... Where do you fit in this play?" He finished and brushed his long fingers over his mouth, deep in thoughts. John thought for a few seconds before giving in to the temptation of asking.

 

"Why do you think Mr. Holmes would hire someone like me to take care of you, Mr.Holmes?" John voiced the question that was banging in his head from the first moment he took his first step in the room. Sherlock's lips did a small twitch as he heard the name "Mr.Holmes" being used for him.

"My brother is Mr. Holmes, John. I'm Sherlock." He pointed out like how one would warn a child about their manners, which was fairly ironical coming from a man that behaved childlike in many ways. John nodded his head once to show that he accepted the mad man's terms on this topic which, to his surprise, got a considering look from Sherlock for half a second.

"Fairly well, _Sherlock_ ;" John always preferred staying casual with a hidden wall of professionalism when it came to his patients, and therefore was used to calling people by their first names. "can you think of any reason for your brother's choice?"

 

 

 "May I have a look at your phone?" John was confused by the question that came as an-must admit, almost unrelated- answer to his question, but took out his phone from his coat's pocket and held it in front of him.

"I can't pass things to you, but may I know if there's any special reason you would like to use my phone?" John said as he held the phone again between both hands, showing that he was willing to help out with whatever reason Sherlock might need a phone for (not that it was the truth cause the place had strict laws about any digital device, but he wanted to win Sherlock's trust anyway.) Sherlock shock his head at that.

"No I just want to take a look at the phone itself." He said as if he was already bored with having to do so much talking for just a damn phone. John was even more puzzled than before, but gripped the phone between his palms and held it as close as he could to the glass between them. After a few more seconds, Sherlock finally tore his eyes off of the phone and focused his stare on the grounds if it had just opened a new portal to the future right under his feet. John knew that he should question the man's behavior to show him that this is not a common action, but he somehow knew that it wouldn't take long before Sherlock started talking himself. The hand that was packing his phone to it's original spot on his coat stopped short as he heard the mad man's words.

 

 

"I'm not an abuse case John, you can be at ease." Sherlock said to the ground as John stared at him frozen, forgetting that he was supposed to be giving Sherlock another warning about using his first name as all he could think of was the question ' _How could he possibly know?'_

"Pardon?"

"Abuse. I'm not being abused here and had never been before, so you can lay down your 'soldier on' act." This time Sherlock's eyes followed his words as they reached John.

"I don't understand."

"Ever since you spotted the bruises on my body, your body went on natural guard mood. You keep glancing at it every thirty seconds, and yet you take your eyes away just as you do. It might be that you want to give me privacy and at the same time you're having a conflict with your inner army doctor that wants to measure the damage, but your phone shows me that it's not the case. Or better yet, not all of the reasons there is." John tilted his head to the side subconsciously as he tightened his grip on the phone.

 

"My phone? How so?" Sherlock tilted his head up and gave a look that was like how a superior looked at his lower ranks.

"You are familiar with abuse." He took a dramatic pause to see how the words effected his new doctor before starting again. "You hand unconsciously leaned toward your phone every time you looked at my bruises, and when I asked for your phone, it was only a small move away from it anyway, but I doubt you even noticed. Why would a doctor want to use his phone when faced with abuse? A natural instinct is to get your body closer to the victim in order to show your support and want to shelter them, as you did I might mention, your chair moved about 4 centimeters toward the glass from the amount of time you placed your weight forward. But why go for the phone? For that I needed to see it up close, as I did and from that it is obvious that this is not your phone.

You live by a job that is under paid and live in one of those shitty places the government dares to insult as ' _houses_ ' judging by the mud on your shoes that could only be found in those districts that those places are located. This phone is expensive, even now that it's a 5 years old model. You don't care for social calls and don't seem friendly enough, judging by the way you interact with people, and judging by the place you live, you don't have anyone that extended to talk and hang out with. This phone therefore, could not belong to you, judging by the state of it's looks and the overall damage to it's surface that you would have never caused if your life depended on it. It belonged to someone else. One who used to own the phone for sometime, but then gave it away five years ago, the same time that you started your studies on the new field.

Sentiment, you felt protective toward the person, and they were clearly abused judging by how your mind linked the two together, making you want to reach out for the person. You're not married, and judging by the phone it was a gift from a wife named "Clara" to "Harry. W". The not extended family and friend, mixed with the protective attitude toward them suggests a younger brother, Harry Watson.

Now, the interesting part starts! Why would Harry Watson give up his phone to you? That question placed next to data such as the time of this expensive gift and it's closeness to your studies, and your on guard and held in shiver when I mentioned your brother's name can suggest only one thing. Harry Watson is _gone._  An abused brother you always wanted to protect, who suddenly gives up the expensive phone his wife bought him, and it's sudden departure causes his older brother to want to go inside sick people's minds to help them? I would say it's only death that could shake up your little brain to want to do anything that dramatic. Tell me how does it feel when you look at a patient and you know that you can't help them, just like how you couldn't help Harry in his abuse all those years ago and when he died? You could see Harry in them, just as you saw him in me and your predictable brain acted right down to instincts. I don't know how it feels, but I can certainly tell you one thing, John. It's delightful to watch." Sherlock smiled a smile that looked more genuine for the first time as his voice turned more and more like a sly wolf with each word said in his speech.

 

 

John felt cold. His mind was emptied from the moment Sherlock mentioned his little sister's name. He couldn't bring himself to move, let alone say anything, so he sat there on his chair in front of a man who spoke out all of his life in a few seconds and held tightly to the phone. _What have I gotten myself into?_

 

"Oh and look at that Dr. Watson, your time with me is up. Can't wait to see you again for another round in two days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the late update. I would love to hear your thoughts about this.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is reporting what he sees.

[STARTING REPORT]

 

 **subject's Name** : Sherlock William Scott Holmes

 **Subject No** : #20127-SH

 **Sex** : Male

 **Age:** Twenty nine (29)

**Subject of Bart's hospital for the criminally insane.**

**Psychiatrist** **of shift:** Dr. John .H. Watson

 **History of present illness:** Mr. Holmes was arrested for murdering five (5) men and using their body parts as experiment subjects at his possession. He was announced "mentally ill" by the court and was send to the Bart's Hospital For The Criminally Insane, where he is still kept under severe precautions up to this date. He has been analyzed by many psychiatrists and announced as a case of Anti social personality disorder, which the subject himself also agreed. What is yet questionable is the reason for the man to be kept in a glass walled prison.

 

 **Medical History:** (See medical file)

 

 **Behavioral** **observations** : The man appears heavily under weight for his height, and pale in the first meeting. He appears restless and shows mental ticks such as eating the skin of lower lip and rapid foot shake that however, seem intentional. He appears slightly older than his age, however he is well groomed and clean even for an inmate. Mr. Holmes has beating marks (That appear in far glance to be made by a dumb object) on the left side of his neck and parts of the left upper forearm. He was dedicated in speaking and talked with an air of self confidence. Often talking in a fast and yet demanding pace he challenges his listener and makes sure of having their full attention. He was not really cooperative when it came to questions that were faced toward him, but instead focused on placing his guard and showing off his powers of mind over the situation. The man showed a short attention span at first, but that was just his mask as he observes his audience's every move, so he could move accordingly. The term "Audience" in this statement is used on purpose as he seems to be rather preforming than actually making a conversation.

 More than half of the session the patient kept a straight poker face and showed no emotion what so ever and his chin was held higher than normal, showing a sense of superiority over his viewer. The times that he did show emotions were the times that the man was 'attacking; his viewer, this time showing the felt superiority that was previously only expressed by his face's angle. He desired to be on first name bases, and stayed to his option even after two warnings.

 What the man seemed unaware however, was his constant leaning toward his beating marks as he subconsciously was trying to cover his weaker side and face the viewer with the healthy side. His eyes seemed to be calculating every single movement and his hand made an unconscious reflex with every time there was a fast movement, which leads the viewer to believe that he was a subject of abuse, which the subject himself disagreed.

 

 **Thinking and Perception:** Sherlock Holmes is a quick observer. He has a brilliant calculating mind and solid logic, which he uses to 'solve' the different forms of data that come to him. He can male connections really easily and has a vast knowledge on different subjects. His speech is pressured and rapid, desired to make the most effect on his viewer. He attacks his audience when is stood against questions he does not want to answer, choosing the direct lines that his logic can point as weak spots, it is used as both a defense and offense system. He sees himself as the predator that he is made to be and wants to show that off to everyone. However, to say that he is suffering from the anti social personality disorder is still debate able, and in need of further sessions.

 

**Diagnosis: AXIS I, II and III**

 

[END OF REPORT]

 

 

  John was trying his best to ignore the different types of pain that was running through his body as he stared at his ceiling. It had taken about two hours to write a simple report about his diagnosis of his new patient and that was a personal record, even for a 'one finger typing' like John Watson. The problem was not that he didn't know what he wanted to say, he knew really well about what he wanted to tell and what he didn't want to place in the hands of Mycroft Holmes (Although if Mr. Holmes was as much of a stalker as he showed to be in their first meeting, John wouldn't be surprised if the man had listened to the whole thing himself.) The problem John had with the report however, was that it was hard to stay professional and keep his emotions away from the report paper, after all, he was attacked to be hurt by Sherlock Holmes and if he was being honest a bit effected.

What made John wonder was that, even with that shaking speech that was meant to shove John away like other psychiatrists, john was even more excited to see what would happen next. Even Shelto was not as exciting as this, but then again Shelto was not a madman and a serial killer.

 

His thoughts were placed away as his phone began to ring.

"Watson speaking."

"Dr. Watson, it was a pleasure to read your email." Came a cold and formal voice that was poisoned with a fake sort of politeness that was still there even from the other side of the line.

"Mr. Holmes. I didn't know you were in any way connected to Sherlock, let alone to be this close." He allowed a bit of accusation in his voice to make his point.

"Problem of observation on your behalf then," The sly voice said in a light tune that almost made John sick from hearing it; "And I see that the 'first name bases situation'is not one sided." Shit, John slipped on that part, but it did felt wrong to call Sherlock 'Mr. Holmes". Mr. Holmes was _indeed_ the freakish older brother.

"Whatever helps my patient."

"And I must say I was not wrong when I chose you as the psychiatrist. This was by far the longest session Sherlock ever had with a doctor." _Well... That was news_ , and let's not forget a pleasant one. John tapped his foot to remind himself to stop the happy feeling and think.

 "And why do you think he would open up to me?"

"I can not tell on behalf of my brother cause what goes in his mind is beyond me, but from your report I must say, the same urge that is going to drive you to the next session with him." Wow, John found himself out of words. "Can't wait to hear more from you Dr. Watson."

Just like that the call was over.

 

John sighed and placed the phone down as he held his face in between his hands, _what was wrong with him?_ Just as he was about to sink deeper into his swamp of depressive thoughts he heard the flat's door opening and closing. John sighed again, this time of relief and stood to face the second mistake of Sherlock Holmes' deduction.

"Love, they didn't have brown, so I just got black." Came a soft voice as John stepped out of his room and saw his lover that was placing the bags in the kitchen.

"Hey James." He smiled as he went to kiss the shorter dark haired man named James Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update and I hope you liked the little surprise at the end. Now I can finally start the plot! Tell me what you think.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time Sherlock Holmes and doctor Watson meet + A small look into John's domestic life with James Moriarty.

  "Love, they didn't have brown, so I just got black."

 

  
 "Hey James." He smiled as he went to kiss the shorter dark haired man named James Moriarty.  
Jim leaned in to press more into the kiss, but suddenly broke a part as he looked at the plastic bags, as if he just remembered something.

 

"Oh damn, I forgot the aspirins you asked for." Jim's round face turned towards John, only to give him two glassy puppy dog eyes that he knew to be his get out of jail free card. John sighed as he smiled and leaned over the small counter only to kiss the man harder and get an answer just as passionate back.  
  "It's alright. I'll get some on the way to the hospital." He whispered as he slowly parted after exploring every possible angle he could shape jim's lips by small bites and sorting it to his memory. "How's the work going?"

 

 

Jim Moriarty and John Watson had a never voiced agreement. John knew that Jim was far too brilliant and busy on his days to just be 'Jim from I.T.' cause surely, no one needs to dress in Westwood (God would know how someone with only an I.T. job was supposed to afford it anyway) to go to a lonely hospital's meeting. And of course what type of I.T. worker needed a, what seemed like, a super computer set up in his study for work?

  
James on the other hand knew that John needed to be kept excited and challenged, so he didn't say a word as he left new ammo for John's sig after every time he knew the man had ran out. He didn't get involved when, every once in a while Watson blew his aggressive mind out on what he called 'low class of criminals' (since he felt a switch in his heart going off and making his whole chest vibrate from hearing John's decent taste in things that were actually James' division.) And of course, he didn't question John about his new job that caused a fat paycheck to be send to the doctor's bank account by a, so called, anonymous worker since the very first day of work.

  
   They never questioned each other cause sometimes knowing every part of someone's life is not an advantage, but whatever they showed you was your privilege. All John Watson needed to know was that he could trust a man as mysterious and professional with personas as James Moriarty cause in ways he knew James used him as an anchor to reality, and needed him just as he needed Moriarty. And James knew he needed John because John was nothing like him, but he was addicted to people like Jim and if he played his card right, the man would rather become a serial killer than to lose Jim(and that was worth the effort in Jim's mind). The constant play to keep John on his toes and yet make himself feel worthy of the doctor's trust was as close as he could get to a domestic life.

  
In short, John Watson and Jim Moriarty were a match made to never work and yet fitted each other better than the other's clothing.

 

 

 

And so Jim told John about his imaginary day at the I.T. and smiled like heaven had offered him the crown to rule it every time John laughed or gave a sharp and yet loving remark to his behavior. He only ever mentioned the successful parts of his actual work as the headlines of random news or papers and 'deduced' the rest of the story the news people didn't know about his work to John as an entertainment. John listened to every word like a sponge that absorbed water, and was in ways just as excited as Jim was over it.

  
 John could sometimes tell when Jim was fibbing, mostly when he claimed to know nothing of cases that were solved rather too quickly for any normal police officer to be able to (from the amount of stories Jim told him, he could eventually find a pattern that leaded to the fact that _somehow,_ some cases that were even harder were solved much faster.) John never guessed or judged as he only smiled through the whole thing from the beginning to the stop like the great psychiatrist he was and always would be. After a small sandwich the couple made together with the new items Jim's plastic bags were filled with, John claimed duty and walked back into the room to get ready for Barts.

 

 "You know, even if this case you got in this job is not like the others, treat it like one of your own. Some crazy people don't need treatment, they just need to know that there is someone out there in the world that can see them as everything they are. They get that and then they're okay." James said in a neutral tune as if he was talking about the weather while they both knew how much more the computer genius was implying. Jim came back from the room dressed in the most comfortable and yet best stated clothes he owned and walked to get his jacket that was hanging from the wall behind Jim's head.

 "You don't need to state the obvious." He said as his hand purposely caressed Jim's cheek before reaching for his back Jacket from behind the dark haired man. A full manic grin colored his lover's face as he heard those words.

  
 "Ohh, Don't I, now?" Jim's voice was singing with mirth as he spoke. "Last time I checked, captain preferred to have everything said out in direct orders towards him. Or is that just a rule for bed?" Jim's smile could no longer be locked away as he gave a quick kiss on the very top of Jim's forehead.

  
 "You're the smart one. Look at your knowledge from these past 4 months that we were together and make a deduction." John winked and walked away just as Jim was about to lean in for a kiss goodbye. He heard Jim's growls as he walked through the door and said the usual 'I love you' and closing the door before an odd object hit the wooden material of the door just where his head was before the door was closed.

 

  
He smiled as he counted that as an ' _I love you too_ ' in the language of mad men like James Moriarty.

 

 

  
***

 Just as he walked in the department B's doors that were supposed to lead toward Sherlock's cell he heard men running from the hallway behind him. His inner soldier took half a second before weighting the situation and getting closer to the nearest wall and his left hand unconsciously went for where his sig used to be pressed to his back. He couldn't bring it to the hospital because with the level of security the Barts was providing, the last thing he needed was to get caught with a firearm straight out of the black market.  
His shoulders lowered to an extent as he saw all the noise he heard was from a group of doctors and not a real threat, but it went back up as he saw armed and guarded security people jugging right behind the group of lab coats.

 

  One man with a hawk like nose stopped next to him and browsed him from the bottom to the top before finally speaking.  
 "You're Watson, right? The poor sod that was to replace Sally?" Who John read from his card to be Anderson asked. He answered straight away. He could have just looked at his card that hanging from his chest, but the man didn't seem to have the enough creative brain cells to do it.

   
"Yes, is anything the matter?" He asked as he too started going after the crowd of people, making Anderson to start keeping up if he wanted to have this conversation. Anderson clicked his tongue as he started walking right behind Watson to the destination that was proving to make all of John's worries come true. They were heading for 221, so he took a deep breathe and wished that it's not really his patient that is in danger.

 

"Sherlock tried to commit suicide." Anderson spoke quickly. John stopped at his tracks...

  
_What?_

 

  
"What? how?" John's heart was falling apart, as all of his good mood for the day sank deeper than any ocean.  
"Leave it to the freak to create a weapon out of pieces of paper, wood, and his basic lunch. that bastard can kill himself and free us all, but I bet more than half of my life that he would rather torment us with everything his mind could offer." John's ears rang as he heard the word 'freak', but the rest of Anderson's words were not any better. He stopped short, but then thought better of it and kept walking faster toward his patient.

  
 There Sherlock was in the middle of his small bed, and was smiling while he laid with both wrists cut open with what seemed to be a paper cut opened up with a small bone from his lunch and a piece of sharp looking wood from god knows where. The ground of Sherlock's cell was a small pool of blood and the man himself seemed high on endorphin. They banged on the window and asked for Sherlock to show any sign of surrender so they could come in without danger, but calculating with that amount of blood loss, Sherlock Holmes was only a few moments from unconsciousness anyway.

 

 In seconds, John Watson was not a psychiatrist. He was a captain and an army doctor and there was a man he had to save, and no longer the great serial killer Sherlock Holmes. He got the keys that opened the iron door of the glass cell from Stamford and opened the door. Instantly all eyes were on him, but army doctor could care less if the whole world was watching.. He grabbed a medical bag from one of the useless doctors in lab coats and ran towards Sherlock Holmes still and paler than usual body. _Who cared if the man used to kill people when he could barely move his head?_

 

Sherlock's eyes were locked on him as he moved every muscle as if he was recording or in ways trying to keep in touch with reality through him, like how James sometimes did. _He could do whatever he liked,_ John thought as he kneed down in the blood soaked floor next to Sherlock and held both of his hands higher than his heart's level. The damage did not seem critical, but the chances of infection were rather high and the amount of blood loss was increasing to an alarming rate.

Holding the taller and much skinnier man's limb hands up above his head while he gently patted Sherlock's cheek with his other hand he called out for Sherlock's name.  
"Sherlock, Sherlock can you hear me? You are still conscious? Are you able to comprehend what I'm saying?"

 

And just like that something unexpected happened.

 

 

  
 In seconds the two saggy  damaged hands moved out of John's loose grip with such speed that John's army trained reflexes could not save him as the man twisted his arms and pressed him and his hands that was twisted now to the point of breaking behind him to his own chest using John as a human shield between himself and the rest of the crowd in the room. He held the other hand around John's neck and suddenly air stopped in it's place. Sherlock was choking him.

 

 Sherlock's voice wasn't as cutting as the last time they spoke, but his gesture was enough to leave the exact effect. Sherlock was calm as he told the guards and the doctors to stay away as he pressed closer to John from behind leaning his head to rest his forehead to the back of John's head and then neck.  
John shivered as cool skin touched his neck, and started to see black spots in front of him as he struggled as best as he could with an arm in verge of breaking to get free for some air.

_So was this how he died? A serial killer using him as a human shield and next prey just because he enjoyed their last session? What a way to go John, you utter fool. What would Jim think? Jim who was brilliant, who hid some form of madness that John used his best self control to keep from exploring in. Jim who was...._

 

... _ **Jim**_.

 

  
 Sherlock's long and slim fingers smoothed a bit, allowing air to flow through John's air pipe just before he passed out. John gasped as he tried to stop the useless struggle on his side to calm Sherlock down. But Sherlock was calm.  
 He could feel it, feel the mad man's heart beating in a rate just a tad faster than it was normal ,like it was his own. John concentrated on Sherlock's heartbeat (as it was much calmer than his) and tried to make his own lower to the same speed. That was hard cause the adrenaline in his veins were bursting and he couldn't help but to want to fight back. He coughed a few times and felt Sherlock's hands expertly messaging his vocal cords till he could breath. He could feel the grip on his hands loosening a bit, as Sherlock's hot breathe hit him behind the earlobes.  
He was not so wrong after all, it was only moments before Sherlock would pass out.

 Instead of fighting and putting his wild patient to the ground, that was his original plan, he went motionless. Sherlock most possibly had only about 180 seconds left before passing out, so John decided to let him choose where they wanted to go with this circus.  
 Sherlock's hands tightened back as he felt John's submitting and John could hear the smile on his words as he spoke through the sound of threats that were being thrown by the people on the other side of the room.

  
John couldn't breath.

  
There was too much noise.

  
His wounded shoulder was aching.

  
His patient was in danger.

  
John pressed his head back to Sherlock, without fear as the man choked him again with pressing his fingers smoothly on pressure points of his wind pipe and he had his mouth open, but couldn't even bring himself to try to make a sound. So he just listened to the sound of Sherlock's voice that carried a smile and tried to fight the black dots.

 "You're right, John. I have less than three minutes before my body gives away from blood loss, however you have less than one. Answer my questions before you go, will you?" Sherlock's voice was like he was bored but even in the current state John could detect the hints of amusement in his detached tone, or maybe it was just John's brain losing it's grip to reality. Sherlock leaned more into the body he was holding in an uncomfortable position.

 

 "You were going to treat me?" His hands loosened on John's abused neck as John faintly nodded. "Obvious John. I mean why would you want to do that? None of the other doctors here, even the ones that brought the med kit would have."

  
 The rest of the crowd in the room were giving the last warning about shooting Sherlock, neither of the two cared.  
 "Don't you know who I am?" Sherlock's said in a way the antagonists in children's fairy tales talked as he almost purred the words to John's ear from behind. John coughed a few times more, and then with a voice he could hardly hear himself tried to answer.

"You're..... flesh and blood..... even though you don't have much of the second one left." John took a deep and loud breathe from between his locked teeth before continuing "You're human... And brilliant.... You deserve to live... You're not my enemy... I want to know you." as soon as he worded his answer, the choke was back on him. John was more than half sure the only reason Sherlock was able to understand his words was cause he listened more by the vibration of their bodies together rather than the voice exiting his lips.

 

 Sherlock took a deep breathe from behind him, and suddenly hulted. John's mouth felt dry, his eyes were watering more than ever and his shoulder was screaming in agony. He couldn't think of anything, but sherlock's fingers on his darker neck and feel cool breathe tickling his short hair to stand. Sherlock leaned into John's neck and took another deep breathe as his grip on John's neck loosened for the last time.

  
"Now I see why you've been chosen."

  
John barely heard the words escape Sherlock's lips as his capture/patient hit the wall behind them slowly, finally unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was busy. I think this chapter had more potential than I was able to show, so I might get back to it one day. Hope you enjoyed it, don't forget to tell me what you think.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and a deal with the devil.

 -"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenient turn of events, doctor Watson." _You don't actually give a single shit._

  
-"We were all trying our best to help! I'm sorry you were placed through such an ordeal on behalf of the security." _If you really wanted to help, you wouldn't have just stood there._

  
-"We were all so worried for you, Watson!" _Yes, worried that who would be taking my place if I end up dead._

  
  The list of people who went to give their phony regards and apologies to John seemed endless. John felt shocked at how cold he felt toward the stream of people that were all over the place, making the medical wing look over-populated. He wanted to be left alone while the nurse checked his neck for any further injuries and gave him pain killers for his shoulder. Even the nurse seemed useless to him as he knew there were no permanent damage to his throat except for a few marks from where Sherlock's nails had opened the thin skin.

 He thought of different ways to cover the telling marks of Sherlock's long fingers that were leaving dark prints all over his skin only hours after the attack. _What would Jim think about this?_ Of course, there was no point in hiding it from him cause, even though the man didn't look it, he had eyes quicker than a hawk when it came to details. John nodded and forced a smile to his visitors while still absent minded as he thought about the incident.  
 Sherlock is not suicidal, there is no proof to cover that. Why would he attempt suicide now? The last things John heard before the mad man went unconscious on him were _"Now I see why you've been chosen."_

John didn't understand. What action caused the man to say those words?

 

 Too many questions were left unanswered. Too many questions that all led to the man unconscious in the room to John's right. He looked at the wall that separated them like he could see Sherlock laying there, face in peace, a bit paler than ever and dark hair placed around his face like an ocean around a white ship.  
Normally anyone with a right mind would consider changing career at this point, however as much as John Watson searched through himself he couldn't find the will to even consider it.  
 

 _"there's something so awfully wrong with you under those layers of a normal civilian, John. Deep inside you're just as crazy as the rest of the loons in the world."_  

Those were the words Jim had once told him many years ago. Back when they were friends that found comfort in each other. A time before a shot to the shoulder, before a limp, and much before the time that light left Jim's dark eyes.  
 He always found it fascinating. He would stare into Jim's eyes and they looked like black holes that one could simply lose himself in, and so willingly John did. Not only now that the light was replaced with a dead and yet sharp as ever look, but even back then when those eyes showed a deep and unearth like sadness. There was something awfully wrong with Jim, John knew from the very start. Jim was not like the rest, and while it placed him off in many places it made him fit right in the lonely world of John Watson.

 

John found it funny how his brain connected Sherlock and Jim together like puzzle pieces whenever he thought about one of the two. It was like they were made from the same clay, and deep inside he knew they were just as mad as the other. Maybe that was why John couldn't bring himself to leave, but to tell the truth he really didn't want to consider any other reason that attracted him to the tall serial killer sleeping next door.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 "You can never resist a touch of drama, can you?" _Dull, dull, dull._

  
 "Always finding a way to choose the most damaging way to get what you want, not caring a bit if the damage is aimed at yourself or the ones around you. You never grow up." _Predictable. Always the same boring drama._

 

  Sherlock was bound to the bed and hence unable to protect his ears from the unstoppable ramblings that came from his brother's fat mouth. He stared at the ceiling and then at the left wall, where he knew John would be sitting. He imagined how John would smile politely at his visitors with their petty excuses while his eyes looked distant. He could almost see the patterns his hands drew on that delicate tanned neck and how John would wear a scarf the next session. It was almost a shame, he would have loved to watch them, watch how he effected the fragile and yet strong soldier. Maybe he could ask him to take the scarf off. Just imagining John as he willingly showed him his magnificent battle scars, as he looked at him with the same eyes when he exclaimed those precious words _"Brilliant!"_ everyday was enough to shut off not only Mycroft, but practically every other useless thing on earth.

  
_Oh John Watson. What a beautiful piece._

 

 

 "... I must ask, did you figure the purpose of this exercise?" He heard Mycroft say from the thick walls he had placed to not hear his fat older brother. Purpose, _oh yes great purpose indeed._

  
 "I will take the case." He said in a calm tune so his voice wouldn't betray his thought process with the doctor that was taking a dark turn. Mycroft angled his head higher looking smug without even moving a single facial muscle.

  
 "I knew you would." He said as he too looked at the wall to the left, like they both could see John through the tick soundproof walls.

  
"I want you to give me more access to the outside world." Sherlock asked his request like a man would ask for his morning tea that came in late in a cafe. Such an unfitting way to speak of such manners, but since when had Sherlock Holmes had ever been fitting?

  
 "You know well that I can't do so, brother mine." Mycroft said as his eyes stared at the wall while the rest of his senses had their full attention on Sherlock's body and the machines connected to it. The words made Sherlock huff air and finally for the first time since Mycroft entered the room to glance up at the hawk nosed man.

  
"Then how in the world do you suppose I could solve such a case? And not any case,but this?" Sherlock glared daggers into the man as he demanded attention and as always, Mycroft couldn't refuse him. Mycroft looked at the pale, bony face of his brother and all he saw was the young boy that pouted whenever he was denied learning something that was far superior to his age. Sherlock's eyes had gone much colder from then, however the light still remained, so how could Mycroft ever think of abandoning him? So of course, sacrifices should be made. 

 "You always fail to make use of what you have at hand, and one day it will cost you a great deal more than you're willing to pay." Mycroft sighed as he looked again at the left wall, just to make his point stand. Sherlock's eyes narrowed before being closed and a much more dramatic sigh escaped his bow shaped lips that were pale from all the blood loss.

  
There was once a time that he feared Mycroft when he said the obvious or repeated himself. There was once a time that he feared looking stupid to the eyes of the older ginger brother. There was once a time that Mycroft attention and affection was sherlock's singular obsession.However that time is long gone and Sherlock was no longer a child, so he ignored the small shiver that wanted to find it's way into shaking his acing spine and considered it a fair play.

 

If he was to work with whatever he had, he would make the best of it.

 

 

  
**

 

 

  Bart's security got John a cab as he assured everyone that he was fine to go home on his own. He sighed as he turned his old styled coat collar up to create as much defense against the watchful eyes and his neck as the cab started to move toward his house.  
 He had already considered the different options he had when it came to telling Jim about the incident, but came to the conclusion that the truth would be best when it came to his lover. He was an hour behind the time that he was expected home, so setting fire to Jim's worry with lies would only make the situation more complicated.  
He pressed his head to the cool window of the black cab as it moved through the flashing lights of the city.

 

Just as he walked out of the cab and rang the door bell was when he noticed that he was no longer limping and had no problem getting on and off the sitting position as he usually did. He stared in shock at the place in the empty air where his seat in the cab was a few seconds ago, and then at his legs dumb founded, till the door opened with a loud buzz.  
He walked the stairs with little problem and smiled a small smile to the wide eyes of the dark haired man he loved. Jim didn't say a word as he stood between the door frame and the wooden door, and scanned the shorter blond.

 

 "Hey." Was all John dared to say as he allowed Jim to take any form of data he needed from his appearance that was visible with the light that came from inside the house.

  
 "Hey." Was the faint answer  he received from the soft and scratched voice of Moriarty that almost sounded distracted as the dark haired man stepped out of the door way and allowed John in. John did not expect the hug that he received just after he closed the door behind him, but none the less it was more than welcome.

 

  
 Jim always hugged him as if his life depended on him, as if he wanted to crawl inside John and live there and see how his body functions to make sure that John was real and he wouldn't disappear. John didn't mind to be Jim's anchor, to tell the truth, every time Jim hugged him (which was rare) he felt like he was exactly where he should be, he felt useful, and in other words perfect.  
Jim's hands roamed up and down his spine as they finally rested on his neck where the cold fingers calmed the aching skin, instead of hurting it. John sighed into the man as he slowly kissed Jim's shoulder and neck and breathed in the familiar scent of books, sharp perfume and earl grey tea.

 

 "It's alright." He whispered near Jim's ear as the man finally let go of his body only to have his hand remain in the damaged skin of his throat.

  
 "Well, I better call M.I.6 and tell them we finally found you." Jim said as he made a silly facial expression that only made John giggle.

  
"I'm hurt! I can't believe you placed the responsibility of finding me to people that, up to your word, only know how to sip tea." He smirked as he walked past Jim and tumbled down on the sofa.

  
 With the crazy turn of events he really wouldn't have been surprised if Jim was actually texting M.I.6 about finding him as he worked with his black Iphone. John just smiled as he pulled a hand around Jim's waist and brought him down on the sofa next to him and rested his head on the inside of Jim's lap.

 "I'm going to skin the person that did this to you." He said in a soft tune as if he was telling a princess fairy tale to a young child, as he stroked John's neck and short hair line. 

"No doubt you will." John teased in an even softer tune as he finally fell asleep in the warmth of Jim's body.

  
 "Oh Johnny, I some times can't believe how innocent you are." Jim then whispered as a manic smile grew on his lips. "You miss so much and yet, you still know the exact words to say." John was asleep and missed the compliment, but the faint smile he had stayed on his face for long.

 

 

***

 

 

 John wore his most comfortable jumper ( a black and white one that was best for the spring weather) and a dark blue scarf over his neck on top of his white coat as he walked into the cell that Sherlock was held. He had a few days off to cool down (as if he needed cooling down) and was confident and straight on like the captain he was as he walked into his patient's territory.

Sherlock's eyes glowed as he watched John walk in and a small smirk moved his lips as his eyes focused on the scarf. John ignored the man's extra attention on the placed they both knew Sherlock had damaged in his attack and walked to the front of the glass and sat on his chair. He chose his most comfortable jeans, so he easily set one foot on top of the other as he smiled at the beautiful man.

 

 

 "Hello." He said in his professional voice as Sherlock walked from his original position-sitting in the middle of the room as his belongings inside were at least reduced to half- and turned his much more uncomfortable chair toward John and sat.

  
 "It's not that cold, so you can take off your scarf as we both know it doesn't cover anything the way you want it to." Sherlock said with a smug voice and held John's stare. In that light Sherlock's eyes looked a youthful green color that was in contrast with the rest of his still weak body. John could see the bandages on his forearms from where he had his wounds stitched close.

 

 John considered his options, and decided that the best way to connect to Sherlock is to show him your full hand instead of holding anything back. He grabbed his scarf and pulled it to reveal what seemed like a galaxy of different colors all around his neck in shapes of slim and yet firm fingers. There were a few red lines- 5 as Sherlock counted- around John's neck in places that the nails had left dark lines that would take months to vanish (if they vanish.)

  
 Sherlock found it amazing, John could read it from his expression as the man looked like a small boy who saw fire works for the first time. John decided to push Sherlock a bit even though he knew the chances of getting through with him were nil.

 

  
 "Would asking about why you tried to kill yourself be to any use?" John's voice had a bit of a form order to it as he did it so many times with his soldier patients that he had almost forgotten to turn it off when it came to his ordinary ones. Sherlock dismissed the question with a careless wave of his right hand.

  
"Oh, it was just an experiment." Sherlock seemed utterly convinced that the turn of events was unimportant, and it made John want to face-palm with all his might.  
Instead John went on with a safe; "experiment on what exactly?" Sherlock looked at him in a way that had the word _'dull'_ written all over it.

"Don't be a fool, of course the answer is you." You could practically hear the eye roll in his voice as he said it. _Now that was a surprise,_ to John at least.

  
 "Do you always go around risking your life when you see a new psychiatrist?" He couldn't help it as the question came out a bit sarcastic, and John mentally slapped himself for the unprofessional behavior. There was just something about Sherlock that made John loathe the idea of being formal with him. He felt like he had known Sherlock for ages, and that was in no way a good sign when the said person was a mad serial killer.

 

"More or less." Sherlock's eyes shined with a bright light as the rest of his face remained emotionless. _He was faking nervous ticks much less this time_ , John thought, _maybe he has no reason to pretend anymore._ As it seemed like John had passed an unspoken test ever since he didn't die by the man's hand. Sherlock suddenly changed position and connected his hands close together in front of him as he leaned close till he was barely an inch away from the glass.

 

"I want to make you a deal, John." He said in a dark tune that only made his audience want to lean close to be able to share the dark secret. John couldn't help but to lean closer either, as the man seemed almost impossible to deny.

"I would give you any type of data you want, anything at all. You can ask any question you like about me, my past, my character and I will answer truthfully. You can have the unlimited access to my mind, if you want." Sherlock said those words and John couldn't help but to consider how well it would be to be able to get the information he needs without any game play. It was tempting, almost irresistible.

"What's the catch?" John asked as his pose remained calm and cool when he searched Sherlock's eyes for any sign of trick (there was none.)

"You will also give me all data I need." Sherlock said in a calculated tune that wasn't even trying to hiding the dark smile anymore.  
_Now that_ , John thought, _is what you call a deal with the devil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this amount of fluff was needed cause I said so. Don't worry, we'll go back to the dark side soon. Tell me what you think.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game begins.

  John decided to put aside everything he knew and was taught in the past five years if he wanted to do this. No doubt, it would be a disappointment for all the people who bothered to teach him, and about almost everyone he knew to be in this field. And he bet, Jim would have just rolled his eyes dramatically at this plan and came up with at least three better ones to suit it.  
 All these logical thoughts that crossed John's head swam around his eyes for a while, but even they knew that when John's adrenaline filled gut pointed at the direction there was no turning back. He was going to disappoint many, but this was as good as a chance he was going to get with this man and he was going to take it.

 

 "On one condition." He announced after thirty long seconds of silence between them. Sherlock huffed out a breathe and glared at John, as if a glare was a punishment for a stupid mistake.

  
 "Yes, yes. You still get to have a choice in answering the questions and can avoid the ones that you feel uncomfortable with." Sherlock looked at John's face up and down as if he was rechecking his last view of the man, "I should take offence that you think just because you can choose not to answer you wouldn't be telling me the whole story by just being yourself. I'm wounded." He tilted his head in a mocking tune as he said the last words.  
 John sighed yet again, and thought twice about the mess he had himself into. This was large indeed, but he had invaded Afghanistan so maybe it wasn't much of a big deal. Sherlock smiled a fake and cold smile (one that in many ways and yet none resembled James, making John's heart leap at the sight.) John just couldn't seem to help it when it came to people like Jim and Sherlock he was bound to follow them into their worlds of craziness cause that place was the only one that he felt like he could ever belong to. Once there was his mother, but afterwards there was no one else able to give John Watson what he needed.

John sat up straight and fixed the imaginary twists in his clothing before finally deciding to speak. When he looked at Sherlock, he could see that under that straight cold face that showed a neutral attitude there was a curiosity burning like fire. A fire which he knew that nothing could hold it out for long, even it's owner and master who seemed actually keen on letting the fire loose to burn the whole lands that surrounded it.

 

  "Okay, fine. I agree to this deal as long as the conditions are met and it is helpful on our medical course of action." John finally announced as he actually knew from the moment he heard those words that there was no way he could fight off the need or this deal to take place.  
"You know, you are kinda insulting Mycroft's intelligent when everyone knows that you're saying those words for the sake of the records. _I like it_ , keep it up." And there was that ' _child watching fireworks_ ' look on Sherlock's face again, as he said those words. John smiled a small smile, that gave the idea of _'okay I'm gonna let you get away with hat just this once cause it was funny._ ' and nothing seemed like a better motivator for Sherlock's smile to turn into a full manic grin. _He liked this,_ John noted about himself, _I like the none spoken conversations._

  
  
 "So tell me about the relationships you had, before all of this. (John waved his left hand in the air to emphasis) "Did you have any friends, relationships, partners?" John changed the subject as he decided to see their new found deal and it's boundaries. Sherlock sank in his seat as if he was even more disappointed than the first time in their today's meeting. He gave John a ' _are you serious?'_ look before rolling his eyes and expressing his disgust of the question in anyway possible.  
 "No, not really my area." Sherlock said in a cold and detached tune before adding with much more volume, "And I don't have friends!" He said the word 'friends' like how a preteen wold use the word 'fuck'. Maybe in the strange language of the Holmes friend was actually the 'F' word, it wouldn't be surprising if John was honest to himself.

  
 Sherlock was true to his words (as John found fascinating), however John knew he was walking on thin water if he continued to bore Sherlock with questions that a mind like Sherlock's would have found dull. _Let's change tactics, then_. Start off with their high points in work and character and then digging deeper. Afterwards there was an opportunity he couldn't miss.  
 "Tell me about your job then." Sherlock's eyes shinned before he could get them under control and for a second he looked mad and perfect to the point of being an alien, and it was just amazing to watch. "The papers only mentioned it briefly. Apparently what was much more important to the people who came to you. Private detective?" John knew he had hit home from just glancing at Sherlock's smile from the other side of the cell.  
  "Consulting detective. The only one in the world as I had invented a job." John guessed it was also another Holmes feature. _If you can't find a job that would satisfy your super computer of a brain, then create one of your own_. Might as well fill in one of the blanks, while they were at it.  
  "And what is it that you do in this job?" John asked as he flooded his voice with a professional interest.

  
 "people walk around on earth seeing, but never observing. Details, facts, and lines that connects everything together and they walk passed it not even _noticing_. My job is to lend them an insight when they are out of their debt." Sherlock said in a fast pace that under neat held an air of pride and John could tell he was enjoying every second of being able to show off to somebody.  
 "And who are the people that are usually out of their debt?" John asked as by habit he used the words of the pathient to help them in carrying on their point in conversation, as if Sherlock Holmes ever needed help with that.  
 "Oh everyone. But I don't just lend it to anyone that comes knocking at my door." Sherlock changed his feet's formation and placed one on top of the other. John noted the body language of confidence (and the well formed legs that were still under weight. He had to do something about Sherlock's diet, he noted to himself.)  
  "Too precious to be lent out to public?" John suggested as he too changed his feet's formation and locked his fingers together on top of his higher knee.  
 "Not every problem is worth my attention." Sherlock dismissed (quite literally with the movement of his hand as if he was shooing away the thought of stupid problems like a bug away from his head) "I only take cases that have features of interest. Without the challenge my brain rots!"  
"your brain must be in agony then. Always here, without more cases except for the cold ones that come from time to time?" John announced more like a fact than a question. He wanted to show that he did know about Sherlock and Lestrade's little secret and was okay with it. Sherlock smirked at the cheap attempt before answering.

  
"Oh no worries, I always find a way to keep myself occupied. From time to time there always comes something, weather it be people you get to know through cases and even sometimes people who look normal but are far beyond it." Sherlock's eyelids were nearly closed as he watched John from between the dark lashes, "Sometimes it's even in the forms of harmless psychiatrists."

 

 John was shocked, but just as he opened his mouth to give a sarcastic remark about Sherlock's last comment that was obviously about him, something even more shocking took place. The lights started to go off and on again and in seconds John Watson was on his feet turning around to find the source of danger. The alarms had gone off and there was red lights swimming around the room, while suddenly the heavy sound of the room's lock clicked into place.

  
 The sound made John jump as on instinct he got himself as close as possible to his duty, forgetting that this duty was a sociopath murderer who might as well be the cause of the danger. His hand went naturally for the gun on the back that was not there, and then unconsciously touched the glass wall between him and his duty. He could hear footsteps coming and going from the outside of the room, but the securities that were made to keep the inmates in in times of danger, had imprisoned him along with the inmate this time.  
John stilled on instinct as he suddenly heard a hum from behind him as if there was no safety walls between him and suddenly the very dangerous unstable man. Sherlock had all of his body pressed to the glass behind John, and still had the nerve to do it gracefully as he leaned as close as possible to the man and of course the free side of the room.

 " _Attention! Code 5. I repeat, code 5. Please, remain calm and stay where you are. The security will clear the area. Remain calm and stay where you are. I repeat, code 5..._ " The man behind the mics that were all around the place spoke. John closed his eyes for a few seconds as he tried to remember what code 5 was. It didn't take that long for a man with his military history.

  
_**Code 5:** Security system fail, escaping inmates._

  
"Shit." John whispered out as he went on his guard. He could hear Sherlock shuffling ever so slightly from behind him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the door in front of him and the corner of his eyes out for the metal door that was between him and the mad man. The two sources of danger, and John couldn't calculate, which was more alarming.

"The curtain rises," Sherlock whispers in a breathless tune "we are ready to begin." The words made John turn his head and see Sherlock's face with eyes as wide as possible and a mouth slightly left open to the point where the bottom hip almost touched the glass between them, and his head held higher than ever. He looked mad, and beyond breathtaking.  
 "Begin what? What is happening?" John asked in a low and calm voice as he mimicked Sherlock's low tune. Sherlock's eyes stared ahead for a few more seconds before slipping and focusing on John's dark blue ones.  
 "Why of course, the great game." Sherlock said in a warm tune. " Just because you caught one psycho does not mean that the likes of me just disappeared. I can't be the only one out there who gets bored."  
The words would have made any normal person shiver, but it only made John take deeper and slower breathes as he dared to come even closer and place his hand on the glass near his chest.  
 "Do you know what's happening? Is there something coming?" John said as he couldn't help but to stare back into the colorless eyes that suddenly seemed too dangerous.  
"Oh, I've been waiting for it for quite a while." Sherlock's joy was plain in his voice as he stared excitedly back at his John. He suddenly turned his head and walked back to his seat, sitting down and resting his head on top of his folded fingers.

 

  John stared at the sudden change in mood and started his watch on the main, now locked, door to the room once more.  
 "What should we do?" He whispered more to himself than actually to his work, but the work heard him anyway as he answered.  
 "Nothing. Prisoners were freed. Mycroft's professionals (unlike the ones he sent after me last time) will take care of the dirty mess, and when the place is secured the doors will be unlocked. Dull."

  "Dull? The people out there could die!" He was suddenly mad beyond belief, and his persona as a doctor was a bit slow on working after he had decided to agree with Sherlock's deal. Sherlock rolled his eyes at that and made an exaggerated gesture.  
 

"That's what people do! Now sit down doctor Watson, we might as well use the extra time we have." John obligated before even noticing what he was doing.  
"Enough questions about me. Its your turn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Finally worked out a desirable plot for this one. Don't forget to tell me what you think.  
> I'm sorry that it's a short update, btw. But I decided to keep them short but more frequent.


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get to know John Hamish Watson a bit + a little puzzle piece.

  "Enough questions about me. Its your turn."

 

  John sighed in his head, but he did give his word, so there was no changing that indeed Sherlock could ask anything he wanted. John didn't understand, _what in the world would attract such a great mind to bother figuring him, out of all people, out?_  
 The red light was still swimming around the room and marking every surface with it's shine, making Sherlock's face to look like a statue's, a statue with, what then seemed, great and sharp green eyes. He sat up straight and changed the angle of his chair a bit (which earned him a huff from Sherlock) so that he wouldn't be having his back to a center of danger (being the exit door.) After making sure there was nothing else he could do to make himself more comfortable with such an uncomfortable situation, he bowed his head just a bit to show that he was ready for the questions that were about to escape the man who then sat like a snake about to attack's mouth.

 

  "Well then." Sherlock nodded his head once and his changed changed into a disgusting fake smile (almost too alike the one his older brother gave John on that damned day he agreed on all this) and raised his voice. "Tell me about your brother?"  
  "My brother?"  
  "Yes. The first time we met, your brain automatically attached his image to mine and made you want to protect us. Show me all the brotherly compassion you have for the younger one!" _He wants to see what he obviously lacks with his brother? No, this is just a game,_ John thought. _Well two can aim and shoot in this._

  "My sister was older than me, that's o..." He was not allowed to continue as suddenly Sherlock's face turned into the exact image of fearsome as he growled; " _Sister!_ _Older_  sister! There's always something! Wait a minute... Older?" And the calculating eyes were back on scanning John once more. "Oh, _of course_!" and the man planted his palms on top of his eyes and pushed like he wanted to push them inside his skull from shame of not seeing it sooner.  
"Do continue." Was the last order he gave, which this time came with an almost whining tune.

  "My sister was older than me, that's one." John repeated himself. "And yes, Harry was a drinker. She and Clara were in a good shape when I left for the army, only to come back to find both of them in ruins."  
  "Yes yes, predicable! Go back in time! Tell me why you despise her, why are you two so distant from one another?" Sherlock asked impatiently. His impatient, and the alarm and the lights were doing no good in helping John feel safe enough to talk about emotional subjects, however, John knew even if he refused to answer Sherlock would get it anyway, so might as well save everyone the effort. He could lie, but if Sherlock did figure it out (and he being him gave a feeling that this was not a man you would want to lie to) he would lose all the way he came up to now, where ever he was standing now.

 

  "It was the typical ways. She was the rebel child, and I was the one who had to pick up after her. Make peace with father, help our mother pick up the pieces. It was easy for me, father was always much easier to convince when I was talking. At first I thought she was jealous of me, I was never beaten the way she was (I never did anything to cause such a reaction)..." Sherlock jumped in his words again with a mocking; "Oh, always the man of morals and law, weren't you?"  
"No actually. I just knew how to handle my problems." John snapped, and regretted it just after the words left his lips. Don't let him work you out!  
"... as I was saying, I thought she was jealous of me. She always pushed me away. She barely ever played with me and the games she did play, she made sure she'll get a chance to take her anger out on me with them. That's how she always worked.  
After a while I thought that's exactly how it must work. Until I went to school and saw that it wasn't true. I saw that our father shouldn't beat us. I saw many things that were wrong, and so we had to fix. Next time my father tried to beat her, I broke his hand. It was on instinct, I didn't even think about it. I don't know what changed that night about her view of me, but..."

 

 

 

 _"Johnny you're a monster!" Harry exclaimed as she watched the man she called father on the ground screaming as he held his hand. She could see from the corner of her eyes how John shivered at those words and feared her brother more than ever._  
_"I saved your ass, so fuck up." John who was only fourteen by the time growled in a low voice. He was shaking his head from one side to the other as he kept his eyes and bored holes into their father. He took a step toward the man who was twisting on the ground and before Harry could even think she was throwing herself on the creature she once dared to call 'brother'._

 _"Stop it, John! You psycho, that's our Da!" Harry couldn't even hear herself as she stared at John's eyes. She wished she could see anger, she wished she could see anything! Anything that showed that his little brother was doing this out of spite or as he claimed to save her ass, but all she saw was a cold thrill. John was actually excited about all this!_  
_And that was why she was so damn afraid of the little boy that looked so much like him, but underneath was more, much more. The old man thrashed and cursed his children, but as the words brought tears to the fifteen years old Harry's eyes, it only made the cold thrill in John's eyes shine brighter._  
_Harry always thought the reason John never watched as their father harassed her was because he was a coward, but then she saw that it was actually what John was craving all along. She wished she could turn John's head away now, he was always able to control this, right? That's why he looked away right?_  
_Just then their mother came out of the door, rushing in to find the madness that was taking place in the kitchen. What surprised Harry was that instead of running to the screaming husband, she ran toward John and her, and in seconds she was pushed with such force that made her fall straight on the cold kitchen floor. Their mother who shared the same dark blue eyes, stared at the eyes that came from her genes into her son and started to whisper slowly in a voice that if Harry was still not so close she wouldn't have heard it._

 _"You're a good man, Johnny, a great man. Human lives matter to us and because of that it will matter to you. You will not hurt anyone cause you're a good man, you hear me?" What surprised Harry even more than everything in that cursed night, was the those words did make John's fists go slack. John closed eyes and breathed like it was the last time he was going to breathe before drowning. When he opened his eyes he was John the golden son, and charming younger brother again, and Harry found that absolutely terrifying._  
_"Let me help Da with his hand." John said in a controlled voice after exhaling a long breathe and in seconds he and their mother attended to the man in pain as if the son himself was not about to kill the man himself._

 

 

 

 

"... ever since then she never looked at me like a brother again. When our father died, I attended he funeral, she didn't. When I visited mother in breaks medical collage gave me, she was always out. She avoided me, and after a while I avoided her. After our mother passed, all things that kept us together fell apart and I joined the army.  
I think she blames me for something, but I don't understand what. Out of guilt she tried to keep in contact with me, after I came back, but she committed suicide only two months after I was discharged. Not many attended the funeral." John finished off, and for a few seconds he wasn't even looking at Sherlock anymore.

Sherlock clicked his tongue and the noise brought John out of his small daze. Sherlock had placed his elbows on top of his spread knees and had pressed the tips of his left hand on his bow shaped lips.

"Not there then." He whispered in a voice that John almost didn't hear over the sound of the alarms outside. "Or maybe....?" He suddenly sat up straight and scanned John's eyes once more. "You said not many attended! Do you remember the people who did? Come on John, think!"

  
John had a good memory for misfortunes to Sherlock's luck and he did remember.  
"Our two aunts one from mother's side the other from our father's. Two uncles both from father side. A few collage mates of Harry. Clara and her new husband. Me and my boyfriend." John said without thinking and afterwards asked. "Why are you asking this?"

  
" _Boyfriend_?" Sherlock asked with an utterly shocked voice, utterly ignoring John's question. "You have a boyfriend? From your body language it's obviously still there as well! You and him had been together for five years?" Sherlock's shock grew more in every second, which made John feel a headache coming from the amount of annoyance.  
"That I would believe, is none of your business." He said in a strict voice that broke no argument, but it seemed like normal social signs did not even accrue to the great Sherlock Holmes. Seriously, is that all he noticed?

  
"Oh so it is true! It's an old trick John, ask a yes or no question. When the answer is no the brain wouldn't send any signals, but when the answer is yes, the signals would be send rapidly. You know the easiest way o see all the signals? Pupils." Sherlock said in a lightning's speed and pointed at John's eyes as he leaned even more toward him. " If it dilates, the answer is always yes."

 

 "Yes, I'm sure you made a world shaking discovery with finding out that I'm in a relationship, well done." John allowed himself to roll his eyes this time to show Sherlock just how petty he was behaving.  
"Oh it's world shaking indeed!" Sherlock said in a cheerful tone, "After all what's my world except for these walls and a few people who come to meet me?" And there was that fake grin once more.  
 "Ok, that's enough questions for you today." John wrapped his arms in front of his chest as he turned his head toward the door which was still locked.  
"What time is it?" Sherlock asked.  
 "ten to six, why?" John turned his head toward Sherlock again. Sherlock smirked but it faded as quick as it came as he rolled his eyes dramatically and stared at the door.  
"Mycroft's men are getting as fat and slow as himself. Four minutes till the area is secured." The words made John turn right back toward him and stare right into those green eyes that seemed so out of place, and yet so fitting.  
 "You know what's happening." He stated.  
"Uhum."  
 "You know who's behind this,"  
"Uhum."  
 "You knew this was going to happen."  
"Hoped for it to happen."

  
 "And you did nothing to stop it?"  
"I am stopping it now." Sherlock shrugged.  
 "How? By asking about my dead sister?" John wanted to shout those words, but he kept them low and his stare fixed.

  
"No. If you want to help them so much," Sherlock finally turned his head toward John with bored eyes "if you actually care as much as you claim to, then I'll help you."  
 "Oh really?"  
"Yes, why not? Solve me a riddle and I'll tell you who is behind this."  
 "How would I know you're telling the truth?" John raised an eyebrow.  
"You wouldn't." Sherlock smirked as his face seemed like a mischievous boy for a few moments. John sighed and decided that he had nothing to lose.  
 "Never liked riddles."  
"Me neither." Sherlock stated, making John's eyebrow reach even higher with a face that said 'is that so?' "But we're dealing with somebody who does, so we play by his rules."  
 "Never knew you would follow the rules."  
"I don't." Sherlock's eyes had this certain power that John couldn't explain. Once you were locked in eye contact, there was no escaping. You couldn't break it, didn't dare to break it.  
 "Tell me the bloody riddle." Sherlock smiled as he won another agreement with his doctor for that day.  
"Who can blind you while you hold the blindfold?" Sherlock said in a deep voice and just then the alarms went silent and the room was glowing white again.

  
They both turned slowly as the door clicked and was unlocked.

  
"Good day John,it was a nice chat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. I personally adore the character of John Watson, so we're going a bit deeper into the man that can handle both of our mad genis.  
> Always tell me what you think.


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about relationship dynamics.

  "You often behave in childish manners to get what you desire, brother mine," Mycroft Holmes spoke just as he set a foot in Sherlock's cell; "but _this!_  This is a far new level in your petty games."  
  Sherlock turned his head in a sluggish speed toward his brother, as he laid on the small sofa that was pushed against the last wall in his cell. He rolled is eyes as his brother walked in with his umbrella almost piercing the ground every time it made contact with the floor.  
_Something is awfully wrong. How dull._  
  "And whatever is it this time, brother mine?" Sherlock answered with a voice that was dripping with boredom and sarcasm, "I don't remember stealing your cakes, as that's the only thing that can shake you up like this."

  "It's no time for jokes, Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft's voice boomed in the room, as he knocked his umbrella to the ground. "Have you any idea of the damage you caused over you petty game?"  
  "Oh let me guess, you lost a soldier or two." Sherlock rolled his eyes, seeming unfazed by the man's anger.  
  "I lost three inmates, one whole group of guards over your petty game with John Watson and have half of the British government at my throat." Mycrfot growled as stood only inches from the glass wall between them. "Can you possibly come to understand that? I gave you full power over that man and you still damage my work over it?"

 

  "... You don't actually think that I was behind this afternoon's attack, now do you?" Sherlock gave him the benefit of a puzzled look as his head switched again.  
"Oh Sherlock, your hands are far too tied for these pathetic lies. You can't control your employee and look at where you are now." Those words finally made Sherlock snap as he stood and, he too walked toward the glass window and stood only bits away from it.  
  "Brother mine, you're forgetting who you're talking to." Sherlock warned as he stared coolly to the eyes that shared the same color in his brother's face.  
"Oh no, brother dear, I remember exactly." Mycroft slipped out an image of a tortured female with dark brown hair falling over her face, covering most of the blood soaked features, however that didn't stop Sherlock from recognizing it. "You mean to tell me that a member of your homeless network somehow hacked into our systems using a computer that was bought from him from a bank account in Swiss that we both know belongs to you, and randomly opened the door of every cell and sealed away yours while loosing madness to the rest of the place? Because that would a be a tale to hear, Sherlock."

  "I. Didn't. Do. It." Sherlock hissed through his clenched teeth as his face got closer to the glass, mirroring his brother, however unconsciously. "However, seeing how pumped up you got over it, I wish I did. But I'm good, none the less, watching it unfold."  
"What benefit would he take from this?" Mycroft said in a low tune before his face turned grim "Flirtation." Sherlock only nodded his head as he looked to the left wall, thinking.  
The silence however, was broken ten seconds later by Mycroft's declarement. "I'm still going to take over your personal belongings."  
"What?" Sherlock snapped and gave a heated glare to his brother's cold look.  
  "I'm sorry brother, but in times like these I can't trust you to be wise." Mycroft gave one last look to the eyes of the brother he adored, no matter how one sided this adoration was.  
"You doubt me." Sherlock searched through those eyes as his body language was almost begging for Mycroft to not break the ey contact, like it was the only thing he needed in this life. Mycroft turned his eyes towards him even as his face was turned, he could never stand his brother to plead. He sighed before he composed himself and answered as he kept his eyes on a lost in the man who looked so much and nothing like him.

"Is that surprise to you?" He answered in an indifferent tune as he walked away back to the entering door. " I lost my trust in you the day you lost your last of morals. This is a dangerous game you're playing."  
Sherlock huffed and the older brother turned and left. No 'hellos' or 'goodbyes', just and only just the work, that was how Holmes always worked.

 

 

***

 

 

  
  John opened the lock on the door, and entered the empty flat he shared with his lover. Jim was still at work, and he was outh to stay there for another half an hour shift as well, so John decided to rest and clear his head in the given time. There was a problem however.

  John Watson thought of everything and nothing. The problem was that there was nothing to clear his head from. He could feel his heart bumping in a healthy speed, after shocks of the adrenaline in his blood made him thrive in the after-glow of the thrill. Today, as wrong as it sounded, was perfect.  
He brought himself into motion as he marched through the kitchen making himself tea. He decided to set order to the events that took place to that hour. He slowly went on with his routine of changing and cleaning and the came back to his thoughts.

After almost a week of silence he was asked to attend the next session with his new pathient and that went south as the security fell short and inmates were released. What however seemed odd was that, while all the door opened in the department, freeing all the inmates, Sherlock's room was instead locked. He had been _trapped_. Sherlock was afterwards rather interested in the topic of his sister and shocked beyond end by his relationship statues.  
On the bright side, Sherlock flinched much less obviously, and the marks on his body were almost fully healed. He was yet to know how Sherlock came to have them, as he made a mental note to gently question about it when he talked again.

  
And then there was the riddle.

_**"Who can blind you while you hold the blindfold?"** _

 

He could almost hear Sherlock saying it again in his warm and yet bored tone.

  
He solved it in the only way he was shown to solve riddles, by a certain black haired man with his Irish accent (which in the time that he had been explaining this all to John was even thicker!)  
_Blind meant to not see._  
_Blindfold meant to cover the truth._

  
_Who can make you miss the truth even when you're staring at it in the face?_

  
"A loved one." John Whispered to himself as he heard the door of the flat opening. He placed what was then the cold forgotten mug of tea down on his desk as he turned to face the living room and the man who just entered the house.  
What did Sherlock mean by 'loved one'? Is it a clue? Was it send from the person who destroyed the securities? He placed all the thoughts away as he came face to face with James Moriarty who smiled a grin that was childish and yet cold. A cocktail of both that was perfect for the beautiful man.

  
  There was once a time, when James would have entered with dramatic words such as _"Johnny-boy I'm home~!"_ or _"Where is daddy's Johnny?"_ which made John's skin _crawl_ from just hearing them, mostly when they were spoken with a manic and almost lunatic sing-song voice with hooded dark eyes.  
  However, time changed many things. And just like how Sherlock slowly dropped the tick and fumbling act, James dropped his manic acting and acted more like himself. John was not disgusted or afraid of the darker side that James only showed around him, and that was because he preferred it everyday to even minutes of those fake appearances.

  
That was why he didn't fight Jim and the man walked straight up to him as he opened his dark classy coat, showing off the beautiful grey shirt underneath (which as always was a bit too good looking, too well fitting, too qualified to belong to just an I.T worker's wardrobe) and held onto his throat, like he was the Olympic fire. He didn't whimper, (even though he would have liked to) as the man held him in the exact spots Sherlock had wounded and instead stared at his lover's eyes and smiled.  
He leaned his head forward slowly, (and by that he, himself closed his windpipe and made the grip irrationally painful and dangerous) and slowly pecked his genius's lips with a soft smile. _Tonight must be a danger night then,_ he thought as Jim's lips didn't respond to him.

 

  Sometimes even he was confused on how he could ever come to love a chaos such as James Moriarty, but then it was obvious. He craved it, and Jim provided it, with every single detail of his being and actions. James was his fix, and this was one dangerous addiction.  
He could have thought about the madness that the world was taking shape with, Thought about those who died that day only because some bastard attacked the security system. He could have thought about many things, but then that was where James came in.  
The man who could grip him by the throat (quite literally) and hold him till he was there and only there, living in the moment, with him. James kept him sane after every crazy day so who cared if James was a bit insane himself.

"Hello, my dear." Moriarty whispered as he closed his eyes and the fingers soothed where they almost harmed, not in apology, but in a show off of power that he could cool that what he heated up just as much. He leaned and made his lips meet his doctor's thinner ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter was more of a build up than an actual story, but hey these stuff are needed. Please, don't be disappointed! I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapters.  
> As always, don't forget to tell me what you think.


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